My Other Half
by WeasleyWannabee
Summary: What do you have to live for when part of you is dead? How can you go on when your world's been shattered? George Weasley will have to find a way...GW/AJ, post-DH, rated T.
1. Prologue

**Summary: What do you have to live for when part of you is dead? How can you go on when your world's been shattered? George Weasley will have to find a way….GW/AJ, post-DH, rated T.**

**A/N: So, just to preface this story with a disclaimer, I'm not planning on it being very long, maybe five or six chapters. Just a short little idea about how George and Angie got together—enjoy!**

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Prologue**

"_You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. . . . One hour."_

Though the words should perhaps have frightened me, I felt nothing but relief that I'd have an hour-long break before I'd have to fight again. The castle rapidly emptied of Death Eaters, and those on our side began the painstaking process of lifting the dead and injured into the Great Hall.

I barely glanced at the dead bodies passing under my gaze as I searched the Hall for my family. I hadn't seen any of them for at least an hour, and was anxious for confirmation that they were all right.

"George!" my sister Ginny's voice called from a point in the middle of the Great Hall. I hurried over to her and grabbed her up in a tight hug.

"Hey, sis," I said, grinning at her. "Good to see you're still in one piece."

"You too," she replied, returning my smile. "Have you seen Fred or anyone yet?"

"No," I replied, hardly noticing that my twin was the only one she'd actually named. It wasn't strange for her to assume that he was the one I'd be most likely to have seen, as we were together so often. In fact, this was probably the longest we'd been apart for nearly our whole lives. I smiled a little, wondering if that was pathetic.

Ginny's anguished cry broke into my thoughts. She was looking over my shoulder, horror-struck. "What?" I asked quickly.

"No," she whispered, sagging against me.

The raw pain in her voice scared me more than anything had so far that night as I turned in the direction of her gaze.

My father and Percy were supporting Fred's limp body into the Great Hall. They laid him gently on the floor a few feet from us, and my father turned immediately to put his arms around my sobbing mother.

Ginny and I moved towards our broken family. My feet felt as though they'd been filled with lead, and all I could think was that this couldn't be happening. As I reached Fred's body, my legs suddenly gave out and I fell to my knees by his head. I stared down at his face, where the hint of a smile was etched. _If I could pick anyone to die with a smile on his face, it would be Fred, _I thought absently. But my mind latched onto only one word—die—and pain such as I'd never known ripped through me. I could hardly breathe, it was so strong. I gripped handfuls of the fabric of my jeans so hard that my knuckles turned white. After a few seconds, it passed, and I was left with one heart-wrenching thought: I will never see my twin alive again.


	2. Broken

**A/N: Since the prologue was rather short, I'm posting the first chapter as well. I mean, obviously—I guess you realized that. ;)**

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Chapter 1: Broken**

Dead. Deceased. Passed away. Departed. Gone. None of those words seemed strong enough to describe the gaping hole in my core. I felt like a part of my body had actually been torn from me; I thought it must be approximately akin to what a person who'd received the Dementor's Kiss would feel. I didn't know how I could go on existing in a world that Fred was no longer a part of.

But somehow, I managed. The first few days were torture. I slept for about fifteen hours a day, because unconsciousness was the only true anesthetic for my pain. When I was forced to be awake, I moped around the house, trying not to think—a harder endeavor than you'd expect. I also avoided my family as much as possible, because I couldn't stand to see my pain mirrored in their eyes. I couldn't wait to return to my flat over Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, as bursting with memories of Fred as it would be. However, I'd agreed to stay at the Burrow until after the funeral.

Which brings me to today, a day that would most probably cause all of the careful barriers I'd constructed against the grief to come crashing down around my ears. Or rather, ear.

I woke up that morning with a hard knot in my stomach that wouldn't go away. I dressed deliberately in a bright green dragon scale suit, because Fred hated the color black. He said it reminded him of school, a perfectly legitimate reason to hate a color if I ever heard one. On the way out of our—my—room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over my dresser and stopped short. My face was pale and sunken, and there were black circles under my eyes, despite the amount of sleep I'd been getting lately. _I look like a corpse, _I thought, _which is appropriate, I suppose, considering that they're burying half of me today. _I pressed my eyes shut against the tears that suddenly sprang into them. Swallowing hard several times to push down the lump in my throat, I hurried out of the room and down into the kitchen.

"George, you're not honestly wearing that, are you?" my mother asked, frowning at me.

I shrugged. "What's wrong with it?" I asked defiantly.

Mum opened her mouth to reply, but then shut it, shaking her head. "I can't do this today," she muttered, brushing past me to call up the stairs for Ginny to hurry up.

I knew I was being an awful son—particularly shameful on today of all days—and that I should probably apologize, but doing so would mean looking Mum in the eyes, something I avoided at all costs, lately. Because every time she looked at me, I knew she saw Fred—how could you not, really? And I couldn't help but wonder if she'd always see in me the son she'd lost, instead of the one she still had.

"Hey Mum."

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione descended the stairs together, greeting Mum as they passed.

"Hello dears," she replied distractedly. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes." She brushed past me again, not meeting my eyes.

I turned to face my brother and his two best friends. They all smiled tentatively at me. I sighed inwardly—I hated the careful way everyone was treating me, as though I might dissolve into tears or explode with anger at the drop of a hat. "Morning—did you all sleep okay?" I said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Harry just shrugged; Hermione nodded.

"Pretty good," Ron answered. "Nice suit," he added, lips twitching.

"Yeah, I thought it was appropriate, you know, since Fred—" I stopped abruptly as Ron's face hardened at the sound of Fred's name.

I shoved my hands into my pockets as a tense silence filled the room. _Don't know why we can't even mention him anymore, _I thought angrily. _It's not like it'll make it easier if we pretend he never existed._

At that moment, Ginny entered the kitchen, providing a welcome distraction. Kissing Harry swiftly, she took one look at me and burst out laughing. It sounded so strange and harsh after many days of subdued quiet that she stopped almost immediately.

"Sorry," she said softly. "It's just, you caught me off guard," she added to me.

"Don't apologize," I said fervently. _Fred would hate to see us all so somber. _"But you can't honestly tell me you expected me to wear black today."

Ginny smiled at me. "No, I suppose I should have known you wouldn't. I just wish you'd told me, so I could have—"

At that moment, Mum entered the kitchen. "All right everyone, it's time," she said, her voice shaking slightly. Dad, Bill, and Percy were meeting us there—things were so crazy at the Ministry in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat that they couldn't even afford to take an entire day off for their son and brother's funeral. Charlie had gone over to the church early this morning to make sure everything was ready.

We gathered in the front yard and Apparated to the small church in the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry taking Ginny Side-Along. We entered and walked down the aisle to where the rest of the family was sitting in the front row. I kept my eyes down as I walked, not wanting to see the pity and grief in the eyes of those around me. I sat down next to Bill, who clapped me bracingly on the shoulder. I smiled briefly at him, though I wasn't entirely sure it came out looking quite right, as the muscles of my face had almost forgotten how to form one.

I glanced towards the front of the room. Fred's coffin lay open on a small raised dais, his face pale and that stupid grin still stretching his lips. A jolt of pain stabbed through me, splintering a thousand tiny cracks into the walls I'd built around my grief, so that it threatened to spill forth. I gripped the edges of my chair tightly, determined not to lose it in front of all these people. As a priest got up to speak, I focused on his face so I wouldn't have to look at Fred's.

_This is stupid, _I thought as the priest droned on about the tragedy of Fred's death, _we aren't even religious._

" . . . comfort that he's in a better place," the priest was saying.

I refrained from snorting, though barely. _Like hell he is, _I said. _How can anyone know that? And what was so wrong with the place he left? _I glanced down the row at my family. Mum was sobbing, trying to muffle the sound against dad's shoulder. Dad's eyes were dry, but his face was drawn and tight. Charlie was staring unseeingly straight ahead. Harry had his arm around Ginny—tears were streaming silently down her cheeks.

I looked down at my lap, noticing how starkly my shiny green pants contrasted with the plain black of Bill's next to me. Glancing up, I realized just how much I must stand out right now. Everyone was dressed in black—I was like a beacon in the night in comparison. For some reason, the thought struck me as hilarious. I felt laughter bubbling up in my chest, and swallowed hard to suppress it. But the feeling wouldn't go away. Without a thought as to how it would look, I stood and practically sprinted out of the church.

As soon as I cleared the doors, I burst out laughing and couldn't stop. I laughed until my sides ached, and tears streamed from my eyes. It was quite scary, actually—I was fairly sure I'd gone mad.

Finally getting myself under control, I sank down against a tree about twenty feet from the church. _What kind of person laughs at a funeral? What is wrong with me?_

I took several deep breaths, wondering if I should go back inside. Wincing at the thought of everyone turning to stare at me, I decided against it.

I stood up again and wandered around the back of the church. With a jolt, I noticed someone was sitting against the wall, head bent. Then I realized that I recognized that dark, braided hair . . .

"Angie?" I asked tentatively.

Angelina Johnson's head whipped up, and I grimaced as I saw tears on her face.

"Sorry," I said, scuffing my shoe in the dirt. "I can leave, if you want to be—"

"No, please stay," Angelina said, wiping her face on the sleeve of her purple dress. I smiled slightly to myself—I should've known Fred's old girlfriend would honor his hatred for the color black as well.

I sank down beside her on the ground.

"I just couldn't stand being in there," Angie said, indicating the church at our backs.

I didn't reply, preferring to let her think I'd come out here to cry too instead of laugh my head off like an insane person. In fact, I didn't really know what to say at all, and was glad when Angelina broke the silence.

"So, how've you been, George?" she asked, wincing almost as soon as the words had left her mouth. "Sorry, that was a really stupid question," she added quickly. Sighing, she leaned her head back against the church wall. "God, this sucks."

"Yes, it does," I agreed firmly. "I'd give you a hug, but this stuff is pretty scratchy," I said, indicating my jacket.

Angie turned towards me with a smile. "That's okay—it's the thought that counts, right?"

We sat in companionable silence for a while until people began pouring out of the church once more. Last among them were my father, Percy, Charlie, and Bill, carrying Fred's coffin on their shoulders. I glanced at Angelina, and saw that there were tears in her eyes again.

"Guess we should probably join them for . . . this part," I said. She nodded, and I stood up, offering her my hand. I pulled her to her feet, and we followed the coffin up the hill towards the open grave that had been dug that morning. I kept walking to join my family, but Angelina stopped at the edge of the crowd. Turing towards her, I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

"I—it's just family—I can't—" she stuttered.

"'Course you can," I insisted, taking her hand and pulling her along with me. "No one cares about decorum at a funeral."

We joined the rest of my family, who were queuing up to throw the first handfuls of dirt on Fred's coffin. As I approached the edge of the grave, I felt my throat tighten again. "Sorry for laughing," I whispered as I tossed my dirt onto the small pile. Staring down at the box, I added, "Hope you don't get too bored down there." I could barely force the next words around the fist-sized lump in my throat. "I'll miss you."

After the burial, we all returned to the Burrow for a . . . well, I don't really know what you'd call it. Mourning party? But the word 'party' was laughably out of place.

Because a suit was far too warm for the early summer weather, I ran up to my room to change when we got back to the house. Feeling far more comfortable—physically, at least—in a pair of jeans and a pale green t-shirt, I went back downstairs to look for Angelina. I spotted her near the kitchen door, staring absently at the food pilled on our dining room table. As I approached her, I realized she actually looked quite pretty; the purple of her dress set off her dark skin nicely, and the high heels she was wearing made her legs—I stopped, shaking myself slightly. _Where did that come from? This is Angie—you know, your _friend, _and you're dead twin's ex-girlfriend, so don't even think about it, George._

"Hey," I said as I reached her, wincing as my voice came out a bit higher than normal. Luckily, Angelina didn't seem to notice.

"Hi," she replied, smiling at me. "You changed."

"Yeah, I was a bit hot in a suit. You look really nice, by the way," I couldn't stop myself from adding. I winced again—_so much for not thinking about it._

"Thanks," Angie replied. "I kind of wish I'd worn something else, though, because I'm rather attached to this dress, and now I'm always going to associate it with today."

"Oh," was all I could think to say. "Well, maybe if you wear it to some really happy things, you can reverse the association," I said, cringing inwardly at how lame that sounded.

Angie just shrugged, and we stood in silence for a few minutes.

"Er, you hungry?" I asked eventually, gesturing to the food.

"Not really." She looked past me, and I followed her gaze to see Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sitting together in the next room. "Let's go join them," Angie suggested.

"Sure," I replied, following her into the room.

The others greeted us as we sat down, none of them meeting my eyes once again. I wondered if they were thinking about my recent flight from the church.

"So, do you miss Quidditch, Angelina?" Harry asked after a few awkward seconds of silence. I could tell he'd tried to think of the most normal topic of conversation, but it only made me think of Fred again, as we'd both been Beaters on the Gryffindor team.

"Yeah, a lot, actually," Angie replied. "I keep meaning to catch a Puddlemere United game to see Oliver play, but I haven't gotten around to it yet."

"That'd be great," Harry said. "Maybe I'll have to try to see one sometime too—I have the free time now, after all."

We all laughed, but it sounded a little fake to my ears. Talk of Quidditch continued, but I didn't say much. The forced normalcy of the conversation was making me fidgety, and I soon excused myself to get some food. But when I reached the table, I found I had no appetite to speak of. Turning, I started back towards the living room, but decided against rejoining the others. I didn't think I could stomach any more falsely happy conversation. Besides, I'd look a bit silly returning without anything to eat, as that had been my excuse for leaving in the first place.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I entered my room and shut the door behind me. As always when I entered it, my eyes were instantly drawn to Fred's bed, now forever empty. I went and laid down on it, but got up almost instantly, because it felt too weird being on that side of the room. Moving over to my bed, I sank down on the edge of it, resting my head in my hands.

It was weird; I'd have thought being alone would have been the worst thing at this point—alone with my thoughts and all that—but my mind was oddly blank. I don't know how long I sat there thinking about nothing, but a knock on my door brought me out of my stupor.

"Yeah, come in," I said.

Angelina opened the door and poked her head in hesitantly. "There you are," she said. After a pause, she asked, "Can I come in?"

"I said 'come in,' didn't I?" I replied with a slight smile.

"Well, yeah, but that's sort of a natural response to a knock on the door, isn't it? I just wasn't sure if you wanted to, you know, be alone." I shook my head, and she took a few steps into the room. "Anyway, you'd been gone a while, so I thought I'd better check to make sure you hadn't die—" she stopped abruptly, wincing. "Well, it'd been an hour, so I—"

"I've been up here an hour?" I interrupted in surprise.

Angie nodded.

"Huh," I said softly. "Hang on, how did you know to look for me here?"

"Well, you weren't anywhere downstairs, so I just started up the stairs, knocking on all the doors until I found you." She smiled a little sheepishly.

"Lucky I our room's only on the second floor, huh?" I asked with a grin. I was a little taken aback when Angie looked down, frowning, until I realized what I'd said. "My room," I amended quietly. "Sorry."

Angelina didn't answer. She walked over to Fred's bed and brushed her fingers against the bedpost before coming over and sitting beside me. "I think I could use that hug now," she whispered.

I pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on the top of her head. We just sat like that for several minutes. This time, silence did stimulate my thoughts. I found myself dwelling once again on how no one seemed to know how to act around me. I mean, neither Harry, Ron, Hermione, nor Ginny had asked why I'd left in such a rush at the funeral. Hadn't they cared? Or were they just worried the question would trigger a similar reaction?

"I don't get it," I suddenly burst out.

Angelina pulled back. "Don't get what?"

"I mean, it's just ridiculous—everyone tip-toes around me like I might be set off at any moment; none of them can even look my in the eye; and no one wants to talk about him! Why? I hate having to watch what I say, how I phrase things, so I don't . . . upset anyone too much, or—or, God, I don't even know what their problem is with it! Even you, when I accidently said 'our room'—" I broke off as Angelina flinched away from me. "Sorry," I muttered again, ashamed that I'd lost my temper. I sighed heavily. "It's just . . . frustrating, sometimes."

"It's fine," she assured me, though her voice was a little short. "But . . . everyone's dealing with it the best they know how, so maybe—"

"I should just give them a break, yeah, I know," I said resignedly.

"And if you do want to talk about him, I'll listen," she added, a little more kindly.

"Thanks. But that's the thing, I don't know if I even want to, because that would mean admitting that he's actually—" my throat tightened, and I couldn't finish. "And now I've completely contradicted everything I just said," I added when me voice started working again. I lay back on my bed with a frustrated sigh, my hands over my face.

Angie pulled my hands away gently so she could look me in the eye. "It'll get better." I raised an eyebrow at her, not at all convinced. "It has too," she added, almost inaudibly.

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A/N: Hope you like it so far—next chapter should be up soon, as I just graduated from college and have no immediate plans, leading to boredom and much fanfic writing! haha**


	3. Unexpected

**A/N: Thanks to Sam-EvansBlue,****what the face****, and ihearthp96 for reviewing—I'm glad you all are back for this story. I missed you! Haha.**

**Anyway, on to chapter 2!**

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Chapter 2: Unexpected**

The crowd in the Burrow began thinning around three o'clock that afternoon. Angelina was one of the last to leave, and I walked her to the door, if only to avoid returning to the land of unmet gazes that my family now seemed to occupy.

"Er, I'll see you later, then?" Angie asked uncertainly as she hovered in the doorway.

"Yeah, definitely," I said. I'd appreciated the relatively normal way we'd been able to get on, and would easily welcome her company again. Almost before I'd realized what I was doing, I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. _What made me do that? _"'Bye," I said, feeling a blush start to creep up my neck.

Angie smiled slightly. "See you, George."

I nearly shut the door in her face in my haste to escape further embarrassment. _What is wrong with me? _I wondered for the second time that day. _Don't I have enough to deal with already without adding in . . . well, whatever that was?_

I'd packed up what little I had brought to the Burrow earlier that day, and I retrieved the bag from my room now, eager to escape the house and return to some sense of normalcy. Poking my head into the living room, where most of the family, Harry and Hermione were gathered, I said awkwardly, "Well, I'm off."

"You're leaving already?" Ginny asked, sounding disappointed.

"Er, yeah, gotta get back to the store and all that," I said, starting to feel a little bad for skipping out so abruptly.

"I'll walk you to the door," my father said, rising.

We covered the distance in silence, Dad finally speaking as we reached the front door. "You're sure you don't want to stay a couple more days?" he asked as he opened it and followed me into the front yard. "I'm sure the store will still be there waiting for you." He smiled, but his eyes searched mine as though he was trying to determine my real reason for leaving.

I shrugged, and it was my turn to look away.

"Well, I think your mother—" Dad tried again.

"I'll be fine," I interrupted.

After a long pause, my father nodded. "All right, George. You'll come round for dinner sometime next week?"

"Sure," I said.

Dad nodded again, squeezed my shoulder, and turned back into the house.

I walked a bit beyond the house before Apparating to Diagon Alley. It still showed signs of the destruction it had endured in the recent war. Our shop had remained surprisingly undamaged, which only made it stand out more than it already did. Unlocking the front door, I stepped into the empty shop, relocking the door behind me. Barely sparing the main room a glance, I ducked behind the curtain to the back room and trotted up the stairs to the flat above. Passing through the small kitchen into the bedroom, I was once again confronted with Fred's empty bed. Letting my bag fall from my shoulder, I pushed the door to the bedroom shut. As it clicked into the frame, something about the finality of the sound made the tears that I'd been holding back since the moment I'd seen Fred's dead body in the Great Hall finally come.

I sank to the floor, huge sobs ripping through my chest so that I could hardly catch my breath. As with the laughter at the funeral, I couldn't control the flow of tears. Eventually, my eyes ran dry, and I was left lying on the floor, my breathing ragged and an utter exhaustion spreading through me. With a great effort, I hauled myself up and collapsed on my bed, almost instantly falling asleep.

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Since it'd barely been five o'clock when I'd gone to sleep, I woke up at three the next morning. It took me a minute to remember where I was, and after I figured it out, the next thing I realized was that I was starving. I hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. I trudged into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Nothing. _Really? Could've sworn we still had . . . something. _Closing the disappointingly empty fridge, I began opening cupboards at random. In the end, I came up with a grand total of one loaf of bread and a can of soup. _Guess grocery shopping should be a top priority today, _I thought ruefully as I set the soup to warm on the stove, conjuring flames beneath it with my wand.

After my pitiful—er—breakfast, I guess you'd call it, I sat drumming my fingers on the table, wondering what to do until 7, when my employees would arrive to open the store. My fingers froze momentarily as I considered the likely uncomfortable reunion it would be. _They'll probably treat me with the same careful hesitancy as everyone else, _I thought with a sigh.

In the end, I decided store inventory was a sufficiently time-and-mind-consuming task for the moment, as well as a necessary one. As the war had become increasingly dangerous and intense, Fred and I had closed the store for days or even weeks at a time. As a result, mundane tasks like inventory had fallen by the wayside.

I'd nearly finished the front room when the three employees Fred and I had accumulated since opening Weasley's Wizard Wheezes arrived. I wondered briefly if they'd all come together because none of them had wanted to be the first to arrive. Then I wondered if I was over-thinking things.

Pasting what I hoped at least resembled a genuine smile on my face, I said, "Welcome back, guys. Uh, I guess I don't really have any announcements, except that I started inventory this morning, so if there's a dull moment, one of you could finish that."

They all cracked a smile at that—there was never a dull moment in the store. I was relieved to see that none of them looked too uncomfortable in my presence, though Philip clapped me on the shoulder as they moved to prepare for opening time, and Verity told me quietly, "If you ever need someone to talk to . . ."

"Er, thanks," I responded awkwardly before moving to the front to check that we had enough change in the cash register. _That was weird, _I thought as I pretended to sort the galleons, sickles, and knuts. _It's not like we're friends or anything—why would I want to talk to her about everything? _I knew that was a little harsh, but what could she possibly understand about what I was going through?

As the day progressed, however, that turned out to be the least of my concerns. Mid-morning, just as things were starting to pick up in the store, a customer asked me a question that I had absolutely no prepared answer for:

"What happened to the other young man who used to work here—your brother, wasn't he?"

I just stared at the woman, my brain frozen in shock. The room seemed to go silent, so that the only noise I heard was my own halting breath and stuttering heart. Without answering, I turned and ran from the store, around the corner, and down the side alley between it and the next door apothecary. Leaning against the wall, I tried to regain control.

Why hadn't I anticipated that someone might ask where Fred had gone? It was only natural for people to wonder at his absence. But the thought of answering that question multiple times a day made my stomach turn unpleasantly. Not only would it cause me a little stab of pain every time I did, but I'd also have to endure the sympathetic and pitying looks that would result. _Maybe I should just put up a sign announcing it on the front door, _I thought, only half in jest. _Though I suppose that would be a bit of a downer for a joke shop._

So I employed the only natural solution I could think of: I lied. No less than twelve more people asked after Fred that day. I told some he'd gone on holiday. To others, I explained that he'd decided to open his own joke shop in Russia (it was the first country that popped into my head; plus, let's be honest, they could probably use a good laugh now and again over there). However, I'd underestimated my patience; by the end of the day, I was fed up with the questions and starting to develop a pounding headache, so I bluntly told the last person who asked, "He's dead."

The man mumbled some sort of apology and practically fled from the store. I sighed, massaging my aching head and glad that it was almost closing time.

"Hey, George, we can finish up here if you want to leave early," Philip called from the back.

I suddenly remembered my empty fridge. "Er, yeah, that'd be great," I said. "Thanks."

"Sure thing."

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Whether it was because I'd been forced to think about him so often that day, or for some completely unrelated reason, that night was when the dreams started.

_I am walking through an unfamiliar village, around sunset, when Fred suddenly appears from behind one of the buildings._

_ "Hurry up!" he demands. "You're slower than Aunt Muriel!"_

_ "Well, maybe if you told me where we're going, I'd be more willing to follow you," I reply, rolling my eyes._

_ Fred slings an arm around my shoulder. "Ah, but where's the fun in that, brother dearest?"_

_ I open my mouth to reply, when a great explosion rips through the air. I'm thrown off my feet, landing several yards from where I'd been standing moments earlier. I get up slowly, but, surprisingly, I'm unhurt. "Fred?" I call. There's no answer. I look around wildly, and just as I'm starting to panic, I see him across the road, walking towards me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I move to meet him. "What the hell was that, d'you suppose?" I ask as I near him. "I thought—"_

_ My voice freezes in my throat as a ray of the dying sun suddenly illuminates Fred's face. Blood is pouring steadily from his nose. As I watch, it begins spouting from other places as well—his ears, from under his hairline, even his eyes. . . ._

I jerked awake, yelling. Breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat, it took me a couple of seconds to realize I'd been dreaming. I tried to shove the last image from my dream out of my mind, but it seemed lodged there, as though someone had hammered it to the inside of my skull. I'd learned that Fred had died when one of the walls of Hogwarts had suddenly been blasted apart, which I supposed explained the explosion in my dream. But the aftermath . . . _why was it so gruesome? He'd hardly had any blood on him when I saw him that day._

I squeezed my eyes shut, swiping impatiently at the tears I realized were streaming down my cheeks. _I thought it was supposed to get better over time, not worse, _I thought angrily. _I don't have any nightmares afterwards for weeks, and now this? Not to mention this is the second time I've cried in as many days._

Getting up, I crossed to a window and opened it, shivering as the cool night air washed over me. I stared down at the little I could see of the street below, wondering if it was worth it to try and go back to sleep. Turning, I squinted at the clock beside my bed. The illuminated numbers read 4:30. I had about an hour and a half before I needed to be up. I flopped back down on my bed, but didn't shut my eyes. As much as I hated to admit it, I was afraid to go back to sleep, in case I had that dream again. Standing up again, I let out a long sigh. _Another early morning._

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Somehow, I made it through the rest of the week. I was slightly apprehensive about going to sleep each night, but I didn't have the dream again, making me think (and hope) that perhaps it had been a one-time thing.

The questions about Fred died down as well; maybe word had gotten around, or maybe people had just stopped wondering. I didn't really care what the reason was—I was just glad to be able to get through a day once more without my head feeling like it was going to explode by the end of it.

On Friday, I received an unexpected visit from my brother Ron. Well, the visit wasn't really strange in itself, but the reason for it was definitely surprising.

"You what?" I asked, unsure I'd heard him correctly.

"I was wondering if I could come work with you," he repeated. "Or for you, whatever."

"Er. . . ."

"Look, if you don't want me to, that's fine. I just figured you might need some extra help, after—plus, I can't stand it at home," he added.

I frowned. "Why not?"

"I'm about to go out of my mind with boredom," Ron said fervently. "I thought it'd be great, not running around looking for horcruxes and mental stuff, and with Voldemort gone and everything, but it's awful. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't actually miss the war or basically anything that happened last year, but. . . ." he trailed off.

"What about Harry and Hermione?"

"What about them?"

"Are they, you know, going mental as well?" I asked, my lips twitching up slightly.

"No—well, Harry might be, a bit, but he's started Auror training, so he's off doing that all day, and Hermione's trying to get a job a the Ministry, so, she's been busy as well. But I have no idea what I want to do with my life, so I've just been sitting around. Too much of a déjà vu experience for my liking," he added quietly, and I knew he must be thinking of the time last year when he'd run out on Harry and Hermione.

I considered Ron for a moment. "All right," I answered finally. "Come round sometime next week, and I'll see what I can find for you to do." Truth to tell, it _would _be nice to have more help—we'd been rather swamped this week.

Ron grinned at me. "Thanks, George." He turned to go, but stopped at the door. "So, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?"

"For what?"

"Er, you know, Lupin and Tonks's funeral—I just figured you'd be—"

"Right," I interrupted hurriedly. "Yeah, I'll be there." _And the fun never stops, _I added sarcastically to myself.

00000000

No offense to them or anything, but Lupin and Tonks's funeral was much more bearable than Fred's had been. Not that I had a ball of a time or anything—it was still extremely sad. But it was a different sadness, more manageable, rather than cripplingly powerful.

Impressively, their infant son, Teddy, stayed quiet throughout, starting to bawl only as people began trickling away from the twin graves. _Poor kid, _I thought as I followed the crowd from the graveyard. _He'd barely entered this world, and already he's an orphan. It's a good thing the war ended when it did—who knows how many other people would have died? Of course, I might have been one of them, and then I wouldn't have to—_I stopped that train of thought abruptly, because it was only heading towards a dark and destructive place.

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice said in my ear.

Turning, I was surprised, but pleasantly so, to see Angelina behind me. "Hey, er, didn't expect to see you here." And it was true—I mean, I barely knew Lupin and Tonks; I wasn't sure Angie had ever even met Tonks.

"Yeah, I don't really know them," she admitted, as though she'd read my mind, "but I just figured it would be a nice . . . gesture."

I raised an eyebrow. "You came to a funeral as a 'nice gesture'?"

Angie blushed slightly. "You know what I mean."

"No, a 'nice gesture' is when you offer to carry an old woman's shopping bags for her, or when you send a birthday card to a distant cousin you only see twice a year. This is something else entirely."

"All right, you caught me," Angelina said with a falsely dramatic sigh. "I confess—I'm actually a funeral junkie."

I nodded seriously. "Have to get your weekly dose of gloom and misery."

"Something like that."

"You know, I think you can get help for that."

"Yeah, I've been seeing a therapist about it—he recommends attending a couple live births in between funerals as a sort of treatment strategy."

I snorted with laughter, earning myself a couple of confused and affronted glances from those around us. _Great. Now everyone's going to know me as the guy who laughs at funerals. _But I didn't really care what they thought—I felt better than I had in weeks, and I'd trade that for a few good opinions any day.

"Not to sound needy or creepy—"

"Yes, I often find those two traits coincide," Angelina interrupted, her lips twitching.

I glared at her. "Excuse me, but I'm trying to say something here."

"Sorry," she replied. "Not to sound needy or creepy . . ." she prompted.

"—but I think being around you is good for me," I finished, glancing sideways at her. She didn't reply, but she didn't look too weirded out either, which I took as a good sign. "And that's saying something, as the only times we've seen each other in the past two years have been during an epic battle to determine the fate of the world and at two funerals."

"Huh—bit depressing," Angie said. "Well, what are you doing for dinner tonight?"

"Hmm—eating, probably," I replied seriously.

Angie shoved me lightly. "Ha ha," she said sarcastically. "What I meant was, would you want to go out somewhere?"

We stopped, having reached the cemetery gate. "Where did you have in mind?" I asked.

Angelina considered for a moment. "Why don't I just drop by your flat at six, and we'll go from there?" she said finally.

"Sounds good."

"Okay, see you then!" Angie said, and we both turned our separate ways.

As I appeared outside of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with a faint pop, I frowned suddenly. _Wait, is this a date?_

**

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A/N: 1. Sorry, for anyone who is offended, for the jab at Russia. 2. Yeah, I don't really know why I made the dream so gross. I guess I just . . . nope, I really don't know. Just my sick mind, I guess ;) 3. I know Ron became an Auror too, but I think JKR said he went and worked for George for a bit afterwards too, so I just wanted to include that. 4. That's all.**


	4. Unsettling

**A/N: Thanks to my two reviewers last week: ihearthp96 (good luck on your final) and Sam-EvansBlue (sorry again about your garlic bread ;), also, you used two #3s)**

**Next chapter!**

**

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Chapter 3: Unsettling**

I couldn't remember ever feeling this nervous.

At half past five, I'd showered and changed into dark jeans and a button-up shirt. But that had only taken about fifteen minutes. So, for the past ten minutes I'd alternated between sitting at the kitchen table, tapping my foot anxiously against the floor, and pacing around the room.

Throwing myself into a chair for the twelfth time, I took several deep breaths and concentrated on calming my pounding heart. I couldn't explain why I felt so jumpy. _Okay, the only reason to be nervous would be if this was a date, _I tried to reason to myself. _Which it clearly isn't. Right? Right. It's just a chance for us to catch up on the past two years of each other's lives. _I'd nearly convinced myself when the contradictory part of my mind spoke up. _But then why did she ask if I wanted to 'go out' somewhere for dinner? And, more importantly, do I want this to be a date? _I sighed in frustration. _Get a grip, George, _I commanded myself. _You sound like a girl._

Before I could consider the matter further, a knock sounded at the door that led directly to the street below. I stood so abruptly I almost knocked my chair over. Steadying it with an impatient grumble, I walked over and opened the door.

"Hi!" Angie greeted me brightly from behind an armful of brown paper bags. She brushed past me and set the bags down on the table. I noticed she was wearing the purple dress from Fred's funeral, and to distract myself from how good she looked in it, I peered into the bags she'd brought.

Food. Looking up in confusion, I asked, "What's all this for?"

Angelina looked at me as though she was concerned for my sanity. "Dinner," she replied slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"Er, I thought we were going out?" I said.

Angie shrugged. "Well, I couldn't really decide where I wanted to go, so I thought I'd just make you dinner," she answered matter-of-factly.

_Okay, that sounds even _more _like a date, _I thought, and then immediately tried _not _to think about it.

I must have looked apprehensive, because Angie said a little doubtfully, "Unless you really wanted to go somewhere?"

I quickly arranged my face into what I hoped was a natural-looking smile. "No, I was just surprised, that's all. I didn't know you cooked," I added.

"One of my many talents," Angelina said, winking at me.

My heart thudded against my chest, and I swallowed hard. "Right," I said, as Angie began to unpack the paper bags "Well, it's good you brought all your own supplies," I said as she opened a package of spaghetti noodles. "Cupboard beside the stove," I added as she held up the package questioningly. Angie opened it, pulled out a large pot, and began filling it with water from the sink. "I don't really have much in the way of food around here."

"Yeah, I figured," Angie said as she lit a fire beneath the pot with her wand and dumped the noodles in.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" I asked in a mock accusatory tone.

"I have two brothers," she said, as though this explained everything.

"So, what—blokes can't be good cooks?"

Angelina shrugged. "Not in my experience."

"Well, I might be the best cook in the world, and you'd never know," I said, smirking slightly at her.

She raised an eyebrow. "I know you're really good at filching food," she said. "Every party we had after winning a Quidditch game is proof of that. As far as making it yourself. . . ." She trailed off, now directing a knife at a bunch of vegetables.

"Yeah, I'm rubbish," I consented.

Angie laughed.

I grinned back at her. "Don't know if I've ever told you this before, but you have a really nice laugh," I said, immediately cringing inwardly as the words left my mouth. _God, what is wrong with me? Why do I always have to blurt out the most embarrassing things in front of her?_

"Thanks," Angelina replied, though I thought I saw something like confusion flit through her eyes. She turned back to the stove, where the vegetables were now simmering.

To try and regain my composure, even though I had a sinking feeling I may have permanently misplaced it, I looked away from Angelina, staring around my small kitchen. I instantly noticed how disheveled it looked. In light of recent events, cleaning had rather fallen by the wayside. Dirty dishes nearly overflowed the sink, empty soup cans and cereal boxes littered the counters, and I could spot a layer of dust across the table. I swiped my finger through it experimentally, wrinkling my nose at the grey film it picked up.

Wondering if Angelina had noticed the mess yet—_although, how could you not, really—_ I sidled over to the counter, surreptitiously gathered the trash and threw it in the bin under the sink. Next, I pointed my wand covertly at the dirty dishes, sending a nonverbal cleaning charm their way. As I turned towards the table, I caught Angie staring at me, an amused look on her face.

Blushing slightly, I mumbled, "I didn't really expect to be staying in tonight, so the place is kind of a mess."

Angie's smile widened. "S'okay—I _do _realize that you live here, you know."

"Yeah, but this?" I drew my finger over the surface of the table again, showing Angie the result. "That's a little disgusting." I pointed my wand at the table, vanishing the dust.

"I'm actually pretty messy myself," Angelina admitted. "That's the nice part about living on my own—no roommate to complain about it. Although, perhaps that would ensure that I _didn't _live in a pigsty. . . ." she added thoughtfully.

I smiled slightly, though truthfully, her words had only made me think about how much I hated living alone. Then I felt guilty for always twisting everyone's words to remind me of Fred. And then I felt guilty for feeling guilty, because I _should _remember him often, think about him often, right?

Some of this turmoil must have shown on my face, because a tiny frown appeared between Angelina's eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," I said. "So, what have you been up to these past two years?" I asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"Er, not much of anything, actually," Angelina said, sitting down across from me. She'd set a wooden spoon to magically stir the vegetable sauce on the stove. "I'm living on my own now, like I said, in a little flat in downtown London—place called Hampton Towers. Surrounded by Muggles"—she smirked slightly—"but I actually kind of love it."

I nodded. "And you work. . . ."

"Yeah, that's an interesting question. I started work at the Ministry right after school, in the Department of Magical Transport, but I hated it, so I left. I didn't have a job for a while; my parents helped me pay the rent, which I still owe them for, but then I got a job at a restaurant. So now I'm a waitress."

"Like, a Muggle restaurant?" I asked, a little surprised.

"Yep."

"So, are you in denial about being a witch or something? Identity crisis?"

"What?" she asked, half-laughing.

"Well, you're living in the Muggle part of London, working in a Muggle restaurant . . . I'm just trying to figure you out," I said, grinning.

"No, I just—I don't know." She shrugged, looking away. "I—yeah—I don't know," she repeated.

My grin widened. "Okay, fair enough."

Angelina got up and checked the sauce and spaghetti. "I think it's done," she muttered, almost to herself.

I stood as well and grabbed two plates from the cupboard.

"Can you—" Angie started, turning towards me. She stopped when I silently offered her the plates. Smiling up at me, she said, "Thanks."

We piled food on our plates and uncorked a bottle of wine. I picked up my fork and twirled some spaghetti onto it. As I glanced up while I raised it to my mouth, I found Angie watching me expectantly. She grinned when I met her eyes.

"Just waiting to see what you think."

I raised my fork in a little salute. Placing it in my mouth, I chewed thoughtfully. Swallowing, I nodded. "Wow, that's—that's bloody amazing, actually."

Angelina's grin widened. "Good, glad you like it."

I nodded enthusiastically, unable to respond verbally as my mouth was stuffed with another bite.

Angie laughed again, and picked up her own fork. After a few beats of silence, she looked at me seriously and said, "So, how are you?"

I frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

Angie returned my frown. "You know what I mean, George," she said quietly.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Do we have to talk about this?" I asked, aware that my voice sounded slightly whiney.

Angelina looked at me steadily. "You're the one who was complaining that no one was talking about him."

She had me there. I sighed again, leaning forward once more and resting my arms on the table on either side of my plate. I met Angie's eyes briefly before lowering my gaze to the table. Picking at a spot of dried food on the wood, I said, "It comes and goes, the grief. Some days I—well, no day is _good_, but some are at least bearable. But others . . . I just want to go back to bed and never wake up." I paused. "Okay, maybe not never . . ."

Angelina's hand appeared in my line of vision, reaching over to cover mine.

"And sometimes I still expect him to come walking right through the door," I finished, my throat tightening slightly at the end. I glanced up to see tears shining in Angelina's eyes. Quickly looking away again, I pulled my hand from beneath hers. Thinking about what I'd just said, I realized how true it really was. In some respects, Fred's death had yet to sink in. Part of me still refused to believe he was actually gone for good.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I continued, "Look, this is why I didn't want to do this—every time we talk about him, we both practically dissolve into tears."

Angelina's head snapped up sharply. There were no longer tears in her eyes—in fact, she actually looked quite angry. "Okay, first of all, I don't know what you mean by 'every time.' This is basically the first time we've even attempted to talk about Fred."

"Excuse me for—" I started, annoyed.

"Second," Angelina continued, raising her voice to speak over me, "crying about it isn't a bad thing. In fact, it's an important part of the healing process."

I snorted, raising my eyebrows, and said sarcastically, "Well, thank you, Dr. Johnson, for that advice, but I _have _cried about it, as it turns out. Twice."

"Oh, well, sounds like you're set," Angelina shot back, matching my sarcastic tone. "Completely over it, moved on, and all that?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," I replied harshly.

We both sat glaring at each other for several seconds. Suddenly, without warning, my lips turned up into a grin. Angelina raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And just what is so amusing?" she asked, still sounding angry.

"Well, just look at us," I said. "Look at what we're fighting about. Completely pointless."

Angie stared at me a bit longer before a small, reluctant smile spread across her lips as well. "You're right," she agreed with a sigh. "We are being ridiculous. Sorry."

"No, don't apologize," I said. "I think we both said a fairly equal number of uncalled for things."

"Yes, but I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about it in the first place," Angie argued.

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. "Well, that's true," I said finally, though I was grinning slightly again.

"Right. Changing the subject. . . ." Angelina's eyes drifted to the door opposite the one she'd entered earlier. "Does that lead down to the store?" she asked.

I nodded, and for some reason, Angie got a guilty look on her face.

"You know, I've never actually been in it," she admitted in a small voice.

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. "What? No, seriously?"

Angelina shrugged, looking even more uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, I haven't exactly been to Diagon Alley since I left Hogwarts."

"What?" I asked again. "Why not?"

"Well, I didn't need to, did I? I mean, I really only came before for school stuff, so. . . ."

"Wow, you _did _disappear off the face of the earth, didn't you?" I said teasingly, but Angelina looked away at my words, and I could have sworn there was an upset, almost pained look on her face. Wondering slightly at her reaction, I continued quickly, "All right, then, you are long overdue for a tour. Come on."

Rising from the table, I walked over to her chair and pulled her to her feet. Keeping a hold on her hand, I led her down the stairs and into the empty back room of the store.

Turning to Angie, I swept my arm in an arc to take in the entirety of the room. "This is the oh-so-secret back room, where we keep the more serious self-defensive pranking materials," I said, keeping my voice to a mysterious whisper to enhance the effect.

Angelina let out a small snort of laughter at my demeanor, and I gave her a mockingly stern look.

"It is no laughing matter, Miss Johnson," I reprimanded her. "I'll have you know that some of these products played an integral role in the recent war."

"Sorry," Angie said, attempting to look contrite, though her lips continued to twitch slightly.

After pointing out some of my favorites from this area—Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators, and the surprisingly popular Invisibility Hats—we made our way into the front room. Since the dark and quiet didn't really fit the mood of this part of the store, I made to pull out my wand in order to turn on the lights. It was at this point that I realized I still held Angie's hand, as it was my wand hand that was currently clasped around hers. Surprised that I hadn't noticed this fact until now, and not really wanting to consider what it meant that I found such a thing so natural, I dropped her hand casually as I reached for my wand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Angie glance down at her now empty hand, but to my relief she didn't say anything.

Hoping I wasn't blushing too obviously, I flicked my wand at the hundreds of lights around the store. As they blazed into life, I directed my wand towards the music system at the front of the room, realizing almost instantly that this had been a mistake. As the store was normally full of chattering customers, the sound was turned to an absurdly high level. Both Angie and I jumped, letting out yells of surprise, as a Muggle rock song blasted into the room. Fred and I had recently become addicted to the music—we'd called it our guilty pleasure.

I quickly shut off the music, turning to Angie with a grimace. "Er, sorry. Er, there's usually a lot of people in here, so it isn't quite so . . ."

"Instant headache-inducing?" Angelina suggested.

I grinned. "Yeah."

We wandered around the front room for a bit, examining the more typically funny prank items.

"Ah, Skiving Snackboxes—something I recognize," Angelina said with a grin as we passed the brightly colored containers.

"Yes, that's where it all began," I said, sighing nostalgically.

"God, remember Umbridge?"

"Bit hard to forget her, yeah," I responded dryly.

"She was such a—"

"Evil, conniving, Fudge-worshiping life-ruiner?" I suggested mildly.

Angie looked at me in mock surprise. "Why, those were exactly the words I was about to use!"

I winked at her, leaning closer in a conspiratorial manner. "I know—I can read minds," I whispered, nodding significantly.

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Merlin, that would be frightening," she muttered, almost to herself.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why, something you're trying to hide from me?" I teased.

For some reason, a flush rose in Angie's cheeks. "No," she said, a little too quickly.

"Hmm, I find that hard to believe. You're blushing," I pointed out.

"Would you want everything in your head to be fair game?" Angelina returned defensively.

_Definitely not, _I thought, cringing inwardly as I considered my thoughts from earlier that evening. "Touché," I said aloud, crossing my fingers that Angie wouldn't realize how close to home her words had hit.

"Okay then," she said, indicating that the matter was closed. Suddenly, her eyes lit up mischievously. "Speaking of secrets . . ." She walked over to a bright pink cauldron and pulled out one of the filly be-ribboned bottles. "Love potions?" she said, lifting an inquiring eyebrow. "Seems a bit off the pranking path, doesn't it?"

I looked at her incredulously. "You serious? There are loads of pranking opportunities with love potions."

Angelina considered this for a moment. "They'd be rather cruel, though, wouldn't they?"

"Well, as a prankster, you naturally come by an altered definition of cruel," I said with an evil grin. "Besides, some customers use them legitimately. At least, as legitimately as you can use a love potion."

Angelina shook her head. "If you don't have the nerve to do it without the aid of a love potion, then you don't deserve whoever you're chasing," she said firmly.

"Bit harsh, don't you think?"

She frowned at me. "No. Anyway, love potion-induced love isn't real."

I shrugged. "I suppose you have a point there. Well, I'll keep that in mind."

A slow grin spread across Angie's face. "For what? So you'll know never to try and slip me a love potion?"

I felt heat rising in my face. "Er, yes? No. That is . . ." I trailed of uncomfortably.

Angie laughed. "Well, I have to say that, overall, I'm impressed with the place."

"Thanks. You'll have to come round sometime when it's open—it's a totally different experience," I said, smiling.

"I'll bet. Maybe I'll try and stop by next week." She glanced at her watch and sighed. "Well, I've got to get going. But . . . do you want to do dinner next Saturday as well?"

"Sure," I said, following her to the front door. Unlocking it, I stepped back to let her out. Angie placed a hand on the doorknob before turning back to me. Smiling, she said, "Have a good night, George."

"You too," I replied.

Without warning, Angelina rose up on tiptoe and gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. I felt a strange swooping sensation in my stomach as her lips brushed my skin. Suddenly feeling very wrong-footed and unsettled, I was glad when she simply flashed me one last smile before exiting into Diagon Alley.

Distractedly, I locked the door magically behind her, leaning against it and taking a deep breath. As I let it out, I announced aloud to the empty store, "I'm in love with my dead brother's ex-girlfriend."

**

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A/N: Aw, poor George! Anyway, look for some more tragic dreams in the next chapter, as well as A/G's second 'date'! Trust me, things are going to get interesting with that one . . .**


	5. Changes

**A/N: Okay, first, thanks to last week's reviewers: Sam-EvansBlue, ihearthp96, ****Lela-of-Bast (where the carriages are orange-Ella Enchanted ftw!), and junebugbug96!**

**A couple people asked about Fred and Angie's relationship and when it ended—I don't think we ever got anything along these lines from JK, but I always kind of saw it ending pretty quickly, before F/G even left Hogwarts. So, there's your answer. Plus, I realized I explain it in this chapter. Double answer.**

**Big stuff in this chapter, kids, get ready.**

**

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Chapter 4: Changes**

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement. But there really wasn't anything funny about the situation. Not to me, anyway. I didn't understand how this could have happened. I mean, I don't see Angie for two years, and then within two weeks I decide I'm in love with her? Okay, maybe 'love' was a bit strong at this point. Nevertheless, there was definitely something . . . _more _in what I felt about her. _And what kind of a tribute to Fred's memory is that? If he was alive, he'd probably punch me. _Actually, I wasn't so sure about this last bit. Funnily enough, we'd never really discussed his and Angelina's relationship. And, as with everything, he'd always seemed so cavalier about it, I'd assumed it had never been that serious—it hadn't even lasted a year, after all. Of course, that was no indication of how Angelina had viewed it. I remember she'd been pretty pissed when they broke it off. She'd gotten fed up with Fred spending all of his time with me planning the shop I was currently standing in and no time with her. In fact, that was probably the real reason she'd never stepped into our store until now.

_Well, none of that helps me, _I thought bitterly as I trudged back upstairs. _What Fred would do to me is neither here nor there, seeing as he's—and if Angie _did _see their relationship as serious, how twisted would it be for her to date me?_

With a sigh, I flopped down on my bed. My mind churning, I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but I must have been so exhausted from the week's events that sleep was able to overcome my overactive brain.

_The ground lurches beneath me, as though a massive fist has punched it up from below. I'm knocked off my feet, and as I try to reorient myself, I hear Fred's voice call out from behind me. My heart pounding, I freeze, knowing what I'll see if I turn to face him. But I no longer seem to be in control of my own body. Slowly, I turn and raise my eyes to Fred's. As I knew it would be, blood is pouring from them . . ._

I jolted awake; for a split second, in the space between sleep and wakefulness, I thought the jolt was another explosion, and I looked around wildly, heart pounding, expecting to see Fred's bloodied face. When I'd calmed down enough to realize that I wasn't still dreaming, I let out a long sigh. _So much for hoping it was a one-time thing._

The clock beside my bed read 12:30. _No chance of staying up for the rest of the night this time. _Hesitantly, I lay back down and shut my eyes.

When I woke up four hours later in a cold sweat, the image of Fred's disfigured face once more burned into my mind, I knew it was going to be a long night.

00000000

I managed to make it though the rest of the night without having the dream again, but my restless night left me tired and irritable the next morning. I was short with customers, I snapped at my employees, and when Ron showed up to start his training, I almost took his head off in frustration when he asked me where we kept the extra stock.

"On the moon," I replied sarcastically. "In the back room, like I told you!"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "All right, no need to jump down my throat about it," he replied defensively. "What's wrong with you today, anyway?"

I rubbed my forehead tiredly, realized what an ass I was being. "Sorry," I muttered. "I didn't get much sleep last night. And I'm . . . well, I've got a lot on my mind," I finished.

Ron nodded, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Right. Well, if you, er, want to talk—nope, that's weird, can't do it," he finished hurriedly, giving me a sheepish grin.

I grinned back. "S'alright, I appreciate the gesture," I said jokingly. _I just figured it would be a nice gesture_. Unbidden, Angelina's words from Lupin and Tonks's funeral popped into my head. _And I had been doing so well not thinking about her, _I thought ruefully.

00000000

On Wednesday, I was looking for something in the storage room when Verity popped her head around the door. "Someone here to see you, boss," she said cheerily. However, when I turned around, there seemed to be something forced in her smile.

"Er, right, thanks. Tell 'em I'll be there in a second," I replied.

Verity nodded once and ducked back out of the room. I grabbed the stack of Skiving Snackboxes I'd been looking for and followed her to the front room. Verity caught my eye and pointed to the front door, and I looked to see Angie standing there. She waved at me, smiling. My face breaking into a grin, I jerked my head to indicate the boxes in my hands. "I'll be right there," I called.

But Angelina didn't wait for me, instead coming up to the shelf I was currently stocking. "You're right," she said as she reached me. "It's _much _different with people in it."

"Different in a good way?" I asked.

Angelina considered this, looking around at the chaos that was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Yes," she said decisively. "Though I'm not sure I could work here."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure myself sometimes," I replied dryly.

Angie laughed. "Well, you're the owner, aren't you? Can't you just sit back and order everyone else around?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I wish. But we actually need the extra pair of hands most of the time. And I can't afford to hire anyone else at the moment."

Angelina nodded, but she didn't really seem to be paying attention to me any longer. Her gaze was focused on a point over my right shoulder, and there was a slightly amused smile on her lips.

"What?" I asked.

Angie returned her eyes to mine. "I think the girl who told you I was here might be a little jealous," she said, nodding towards the front.

I turned around to see Verity staring at us, the falsely bright smile still pasted on her face. It definitely looked forced now. When she caught me looking at her, she quickly dropped her gaze and pretended to straighten a display in front of the cash register.

I faced Angelina again, frowning. "Jealous of what?"

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer. Suddenly, I realized what she was implying.

I grinned. "What? No way," I said. I glanced back at Verity, who now seemed to be deliberately averting her gaze from us. "I don't even know her that well."

"Since when do you need to know someone to have a crush on them?" Angelina countered.

I shook my head. "I still don't believe you."

Angelina shrugged. "Fine, but girls do have a sixth sense for these things, you know."

"Oh, really?" I teased. "And do you think she has probable cause to be jealous?" The words were out of my mouth before I'd really considered how they would sound. Mentally kicking myself, I waited to see how Angie would respond.

To my surprise, she just shrugged, turning to help me arrange the Skiving Snackboxes on the shelf. _Wait, what does that mean? _I thought anxiously. _She _does _think there's a reason for Verity to be jealous? As in, she likes me as more than a friend?_ Too cowardly to ask her, though, I merely changed the subject. "It's funny—these were our starter product, yet they're still our best seller. We probably could have just opened a store only selling them and done just as well as we do now."

"Well, considering that a large majority of the people coming through Diagon Alley are students, it's not that surprising, I suppose," Angie reasoned. Maybe I was imagining things, but she suddenly sounded distant, as though we were mere acquaintances carrying on a polite conversation.

"Yeah, I guess," I mumbled back, already regretting not saying anything earlier. _So just ask her now, _part of my brain argued. _But the moment's passed—it would seem weird, _the cowardly part argued back. _You're pathetic, _the first part retorted.

Before I could say something, and before I could start to worry about my own sanity, having an argument with myself, Angelina turned to me and said, "Well, I just wanted to stop by, since I said I would. I'm actually on my lunch break, and it's almost over, so I have to get back."

"Right," I said. "Er, see you Saturday, then?"

Angelina nodded, smiled at me briefly, and left. As I cursed my cowardice, I couldn't help but think that her smile had looked as forced as Verity's.

00000000

I'd promised to drop by the Burrow for lunch on Saturday, and I should have known the visit was fated from the start by my mother's greeting.

"George, dear, lovely to see you," she said, almost politely, as though I was merely an acquaintance rather than her son.

"Hey mum," I said, forcing a smile onto my face. I followed her down the hall, and she stopped on the threshold to the living room.

"You go on ahead, I've just got to finish things up in the kitchen," she said, waving me into the room.

I walked in to find Dad, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione gathered together. We exchanged greetings—I relaxed a little when theirs were more normal than Mum's had been—and I took a chair next to Dad.

"So, how's the family business?" Dad asked with a small smile. That's what he called the store—even though Fred and I had told him it didn't really make sense, since family business implied that it had been passed down from father to children, he'd merely replied 'It has the family name in it, doesn't it? And you can pass it down you your kids.' And thus it had become something of a running joke.

I returned his grin. "Fine—busy, but fine."

"Ron's not too much of a cock up, then?" Ginny asked mildly, flashing Ron and evil grin.

"Hey, I am a great employee," he replied defensively. "Aren't I?" he added to me, a little anxiously.

"Oh yeah," I answered sarcastically. "Employee of the month right here."

Everyone laughed; Ron scowled.

"You know I'm only joking, Ronnie," I added with a wink, which only made Ron's scowl deepen. He hated it when I called him Ronnie.

We all lapsed into silence for a few minutes. "Well, I think I'm going to see if your mother needs any help," Dad said finally, rising and leaving the room.

When he was out of earshot, I asked the others in a low voice, "So, how's it been here?" I remembered what Ron had said about feeling bored and useless, and wondered how the rest of them had been fairing.

They all exchanged looks. "Okay, I guess," Ginny finally said.

I frowned. "What do you mean, 'you guess'?"

"Er, we've all moved out, actually," Ron explained.

"What?" I asked, caught off guard. "When?"

"Just a couple of days ago," Harry answered. "Kind of on a whim, as it turned out. I mean, we were all going to move out eventually—"

"—especially since we don't even live here, technically," Hermione interjected with a smile.

"Right," Harry said. "Anyway, we went out last Saturday to look at flats, just for fun, really, but then we found one that was actually kind of perfect. It's pretty nice, decently priced, and right by the Ministry, which is a plus. I mean, it doesn't really matter, since we could all just Appartate there anyway, but—"

"Wait, so, you're all living together?" I interrupted.

They nodded.

"Oh," I said. "Okay. Well, that's . . . fun."

Ron grinned. "You say that so enthusiastically."

"Sorry, it was just unexpected. But no, really, that's great." Now that I was getting used to the idea, a thought occurred to me. "Although, how's that going to work, with—" I gestured in turn to Ron and Hermione and Harry and Ginny, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "What if you want to, you know . . ." They all seemed to realize what I was implying at the same time, and the four of them turned bright red.

"Okay, can we not go there?" Ginny said, glaring at me.

A grin spread across my face. "Well, I'm sure you all will work something out."

"And what about you?" Ron countered, his ears still red.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I saw you with Angelina the other day," he said, giving me a significant look.

I glared at him. "That is none of your business," I said sharply.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Defensive much? Besides, you—"

"Lunch is ready, gang," Dad said, poking his head into the room.

We all trooped into the kitchen, Ron smirking at me as we sat down. I looked down at my plate quickly, not wanting to think about Angie's and my awkward parting that day. I'd been trying not to think about it all week, though I suppose I'd be forced to tonight. If she showed up, that is. I sighed. Looking up, I realized everyone else was eating in silence as well. _Merlin, that's a change._ And it was one I didn't like. Clearing my throat, I said, "So, these four tell me they've bought a flat?"

Apparently, that was not the right thing to say. Harry and Ron looked at me sharply, and Mum's fork clattered against her plate.

Dad cleared his throat. "Yes, that's right."

My face hot, I said, "Er, sor—"

"And speaking of moving," Mum interrupted, "we should get started on our project for the day." She got up and started clearing plates, even though no one had really eaten much.

_What the hell is going on? _"What project?" I said aloud.

Suddenly, no one would look me in the eye.

"We're cleaning out your room," my mother said matter-of-factly.

I froze, not missing the hidden meaning behind her words. "You're clearing out Fred's stuff, you mean," I said before I could stop myself.

"George—" my father started placatingly.

I rose abruptly to my feet. "And then what, are you going to board up the door, never go in there again?" I shouted.

Mum looked at me, pain and anger in her eyes. "You have no idea how it feels to walk past there every day. I'm sorry, but I just can't handle it anymore. You can take it all, if you want," she added.

"Oh thanks," I said sarcastically. "Because it's pretty much been a walk in the park for me so far, and it would really help if I had loads of things around that reminded me of him."

"George!" my father said again, more sharply.

But I didn't wait around to hear anymore. Striding from the house, I barely waited to clear the threshold before Apparating back to my place. I slammed into my flat, shaking with anger. I strode into my small living room and threw myself down on the couch. Kneading my temples, I tried to calm down. Apparently, it worked too well, because the next thing I knew, I was awakened by a knock on the door. Confused, I sat up on the couch. The knocking sounded again, more persistently. "Coming," I called.

Opening the door, I discovered Angie standing out on the landing. "Hey," she said, smiling at me.

I stared at her for a minute, trying to remember why she was here.

Angie's smile faltered. "You okay?"

"Dinner," I said emphatically, finally remembering. Angelina gave me an odd look. "Er, sorry, I fell asleep, and then your knocking woke me up, but I was in that confused state that happens right after you wake up—you know what I mean—and then I couldn't remember why you were here, and . . ." I trailed off, realizing I was rambling.

Angelina pretended to look offended. "I can't believe you forgot," she said in a huff.

"Sorry," I said again. "Not that it's really an excuse, but I've kind of had a shitty day."

"Oh," Angie said, looking down. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault," I said, attempting to make my voice sound light.

Angelina looked up at me. "Well, I have the perfect solution for that." And without further ado, she grabbed my hand and led me back down the stairs.

As we emerged on the street in Diagon Alley, I asked, "Where are we going?"

"Not far. You'll see."

We passed through the brick arch at the end of the street, across the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, and into the pub. Angie dragged me to the back of the room, pushed me into a booth and said, "I'll be right back."

True to her word, she returned mere minutes later, two firewhiskeys smoking in her hands. Setting one down in front of me, she raised hers in a toast before bringing it to her lips and draining it in one gulp. I stared at her, my mouth open slightly, as she set her glass on the table. Grinning, she stood up again. "Come on, now, don't fall behind." And with that she was gone, only to return with two more glasses. She glanced at my still full glass and made a tisking sound in her throat. "Well?"

"Sorry, I'm just surprised to discover you've become an alcoholic in the past two years," I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She laughed and took a sip of her second drink. I took my first and threw it back, wincing slightly at the line of fire it left in my throat. Raising my second one, I gave Angie a questioning look. "Ready?"

She nodded, and we downed our second drinks. Coughing once, Angie pulled a face. "I forgot how strong this stuff is," she said.

I nodded. Without any transition whatsoever, I abruptly began telling her about the fiasco at the Burrow. When I finished, Angie looked at me solemnly and said, "Well, I think that calls for another drink."

As we started in on our third firewhiskey of the evening—more slowly this time—Angelina said, "I have a confession. You know when I told you I didn't really know why I'd moved to a flat in Muggle London?"

I nodded.

"Well, I lied. The reason I moved there was—" she stopped, looking down at the table. Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes once more to mine and continued. "—was because I just wanted to get away from it all. From everything that was happening with Voldemort—" she stopped again. "Working at the Ministry, even for that short period, I had a first-hand view of how corrupt it was becoming, and the terrible things that were starting to happen. It scared me, so I—I . . . ran away, I guess." She looked down again.

I was silent for a moment, contemplating this. "How come you didn't just tell me that the first time?" I finally asked curiously.

Angie snorted derisively. "Because I was ashamed to let you know what a coward I was. I mean, you stayed here, kept the store open, even with all the attacks Diagon Alley was getting . . ."

"I don't think what you did was cowardly," I said. "And it's not like what I did was really that noteworthy. No one ever attacked the store directly, and I didn't do any actual fighting until the Battle of Hogwarts, so I'd say we're even," I finished with a grin.

Angelina smiled back, though she looked unconvinced.

We were on our sixth firewhiskey when she said, "I have another confession."

I laughed. "What's prompted all this?"  
Angie shrugged. "I don't know—though I'd bet this stuff probably has something to do with it," she added, indicating her glass.

"That's probably true," I said. I was finding it difficult to focus on her face, and I really had to concentrate to separate her voice from the general noise in the pub.

"Okay, here it goes. Are you ready for this one?"

"Well, that's difficult to say, since you haven't told me yet," I said, my lips twitching. Like at Fred's funeral, I suddenly had an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh, though I was sure there were very different reasons for it this time.

"Right," Angie said, giggling. She took a deep breath, suddenly serious. Leaning closer, she whispered, "Fred is the only person I've ever kissed." Sitting back, she waited for my reaction.

Slightly thrown—I hadn't really been expecting a confession of that nature, nor could I really believe that was true—it took me a minute to formulate an answer. "Wow," I finally said. "You know, that's actually a little sad."

Angie reached over and hit me on the arm.

Laughing, I continued, "In fact, I think it should be remedied immediately." Standing, I shouted to the room at large, "Hey, my friend here is in desperate need of some snogging—any takers?" Some people glanced up, giving me strange looks, but most ignored me.

Angie had turned bright red. "George, what are you doing?" she hissed, grabbing my sleeve.

Because I hadn't really been expecting it, and because my balance was slightly impaired at the moment, I missed the seat as she pulled me back down. Next thing I knew, I was staring up at her from the floor.

Angelina burst out laughing. "S-sorry," she stuttered through her laughter, sliding out of her chair and offering me her hand.

Taking it, I let her pull me to my feet. As she made to sit back down, I tightened my grip on her hand, stopping her. She turned back towards me, a questioning look in her eyes, and I took a step closer to her. Without really thinking, I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. Caught off guard, Angie stood frozen for a few seconds. Then her lips began moving against mine, kissing me back.

**

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A/N: Ah yeah, George! Ahem, anyway, sorry for making Mrs. Weasley seem so horrible—I really do love her, honest (esp with all the badass Bellatrix killing stuff in DH!).**


	6. Mending

**A/N: So, first I have to thank the reviewers: Sam-EvansBlue (I think it's so funny that you're hesitant to read each chapter—seriously, this is more a romance story than a sad story, I promise!), junebugbug96 (good, I'm glad you didn't think Molly was too harsh), and Lela-of-Bast (thanks!)**

**Okay. The morning after. Always a good time. Also, just a heads up that George was actually A LOT drunker than he seemed in the last chapter—I went back and forth about whether to make him seem drunk, but then I decided that since it was from his point of view, he would have seemed normal to himself. Yeah, hope that made some semblance of sense. Oh, and some time passed after the kiss before they left the Leaky Cauldron . . . well, just read, it'll all make sense ;)**

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Chapter 5: Mending**

The minute I woke up, I immediately wanted to go back to sleep. I felt horrible. My head was pounding, as though a thousand hammers were battering at the inside of my skull. Even the light of the sun on the inside of my eyelids was incredibly painful, making me loathe to open them. My stomach was churning uncomfortably; I merely lay there for several minutes, concentrating on breathing. As I took further stock of my body, I noticed an odd pressure on my chest, and it was this that finally made me open my eyes.

As I'd predicted, the sunlight streaming into the room was like a knife to the head, and I winced, looking down to shade my eyes against the glare. It was at this moment that I realized what was causing the pressure on my chest—Angelina's head was resting there.

I jumped and let out a soft yell of surprise, wincing again as the sound of my voice sent a further stab of pain across my forehead. The sudden movement jolted Angelina awake, and she sat up, blinking. Looking around, her gaze settled first on me, then dropped to the bed, and then jumped to my face again.

"Oh," she said, a blush rising in her cheeks. She practically jumped off my bed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but . . ."

"S'okay," I said, my voice hoarse. Clearing my throat, I continued, "So, I'm a little fuzzy on the details of last night, but we didn't—that is—" I gestured between us and the bed, flushing as well.

"Oh!" Angelina said again, catching on. "No, definitely not," she assured me, her blush deepening.

"Good," I said. "Er, that is, I—I hoped I would remember that." My face was now burning, and I couldn't quite look Angie in the eye.

"Er, shall I make coffee?" she offered suddenly, and I had a sneaking suspicion she was looking for an excuse to leave the room.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "I'll just—I'll be there in a second."

Angelina practically sprinted from the room, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Looking down, I realized I was dressed in only my boxers and t-shirt. _When did I take my pants off?_ I though, blushing again. Quickly throwing on the jeans I'd been wearing last night, I strode into the kitchen, where Angie was magically setting the kettle to boil.

She glanced up at me as I walked in, searched my face, and smiled. "You look awful," she stated.

I glared at her. "Well, thanks." Sitting down at the table, I sighed, resting my head in my hands. "I _feel_ awful," I muttered.

A cup of coffee appeared in the edge of my vision, and the scrape of a chair told me Angie had sat down. Pulling the cup towards me, I took a sip. The warm, bitter liquid slightly abated the pounding in my head, and I looked up to find Angelina watching me, a look in her eyes that I couldn't quite place. Smiling, I said, "So, how drunk was I last night?"

"Pretty drunk," she said. "Much more than me, that's for sure."

I frowned. "We had the same amount to drink, didn't we?"

Angie laughed. "Oh no, no we didn't. _You _had about ten firewhiskeys, I only had four."

"No way. I could have sworn you had at least six."

Angie shook her head, grinning now.

"And _ten_?" I continued. "Why did you let me do that?"

She simply kept grinning at me.

"You're a horrible friend," I accused.

For some reason, her smile faltered slightly and she looked away, taking another sip of her coffee.

"Right," I said, mostly to myself. "Well, since I was apparently pissed out of my mind, you're going to have to help me remember all of the embarrassing things I undoubtedly did. For instance, I don't remember taking off my pants, but apparently that happened at some point."

Angie's grin was back. "Don't worry, we made it back here before you did that."

"And that's all I took off, I'm assuming?"  
Angelina laughed again, though she was blushing slightly. "Yes."

I looked at her carefully. "I suppose I'll just have to take your word on that."

Angelina's eyes narrowed and she hit me lightly on the arm. "Don't be stupid, I wouldn't lie to you about that."

"Fine, fine. So, how did you end up here?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to let you come back by yourself—I didn't trust you to make it in one piece, even though it was only from the Leaky Cauldron. And then once we got here, you begged me to stay, so I did."

I snorted. "I did not _beg _you."

Angie raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember it?"

I looked at her, then reluctantly shook my head.

"Well, then," she said smugly.

I glared at her.

"Anyway, you lay down—probably a good idea, as you couldn't exactly walk straight at that point—and I sat down on the edge of your bed, and I guess I must have fallen asleep." Her expression became serious again. "So," she said. "What now?"

My brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "What now what?"

"You know, what are we—that is, what do you—" Angie stopped, reddening.

I grinned. "You're going to have to be more explicit than that, I'm afraid."

It was Angie's turn to frown. "Wait, what exactly _do _you remember from last night?"

I sat back, thinking. "I remember everything up to about the fifth drink pretty clearly, but all that came after that is fair game." I thought a bit more. "You told me something about feeling like you ran away when you moved to London . . . and something about Fred . . . and—nope, those are pretty much the only significant pieces of conversation I remember." I grinned sheepishly at her.

She looked away again, frowning. When she turned back to me, there was something guarded in her gaze. "Well, I should probably get going. I have to—anyway, I should go."

And with that, she stood abruptly and started for the door. Scrambling to my feet, I followed her. "You sure you don't want to stay for breakfast or something?" I asked, confused at her abrupt decision to leave. "I could—"

She turned to me, smiling tightly. "Thanks, but I really should get going."

"Er, okay, then. I guess I'll see you later? And thanks for making sure I made it back last night."

"Sure—see you," Angelina said, shutting the door behind her.

I stared at the inside of the door for a few seconds, utterly bewildered. _What just happened? Did I say something wrong?_ Shaking my head, I turned back to the kitchen. I put our empty cups in the sink and then wandered back into the bedroom, figuring a long, warm shower might help clear my head.

As I washed my hair, I thought back over our conversation, trying to figure out what had caused Angie to leave so suddenly. _It was right after we started talking about what I remembered from last night. _I sighed. _Something about that part was the kiss of death for the morning, _I thought ruefully. _Kiss of death . . . kiss . . ._

I gasped, inhaling a mouthful of water as I did so. Coughing and spluttering, I turned off the water and practically leaped out of the shower. _God, how could I be so stupid? _I thought as I hurriedly toweled myself dry. _How the hell did I forget that we'd kissed last night? No wonder she left—must've been angry that I hadn't remembered that. _I snorted. _Well, who wouldn't be? Merlin, I am such an idiot!_

Grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt at random from my closet, I threw them on and practically flew out the door. _Okay, where did she say she lived? Right, some place called Hampton Towers_. Holding the location in my mind and trying not to panic, I half-turned and Apparated out of Diagon Alley.

As I rematerialized in the middle of a busy London street, I winced slightly. I'd forgotten this was Muggle London, and was pretty sure several people had seen me appear apparently out of thin air. At least, they were looking at me as though I'd sprouted a second head. Trying to act naturally, I scanned the street for Hampton Towers. When I spotted it, my heart sank in dismay. _They weren't kidding about the towers part, _I thought ruefully, my eyes traveling up the ten-story building. _And I have absolutely no idea which room she's in, let alone which floor._

Sighing, I crossed the street and entered the building, glancing around the lobby for a receptionist. Nothing. Not a soul in sight. Grinding my teeth in frustration, I paced around the room, hoping someone would appear soon.

To distract myself, I focused on the only positive part of the situation I could see. The fact that Angie had been angry about me forgetting our kiss must mean she'd wanted to kiss me, right? Her disappointment was a good sign, wasn't it? _Of course, I may have just made a royal mess of things before they even began._

After a few more minutes, I lost all patience and strode towards the stairs. _Sod it, I'll just knock on every door until I find her. Merlin, I hope she doesn't live on the tenth floor. Or the ninth, come to that. Or pretty much any floor after five._

Reaching the first floor, I started making my way from door to door. The first door opened to reveal a middle aged balding man with huge glasses.

"Er, wrong room, sorry," I said, moving on to the next door.

And so it went. Thankfully, at many of the rooms, no one answered. Nevertheless, by the time I moved on to the second floor, I was already tired of apologizing to people. Furthermore, an unpleasant thought had occurred to me: Angie had never actually said she was coming back here. For all I knew, she might not even be in London right now.

By the third floor, a constant refrain of _this is stupid, this is stupid, _was running round and round inside my head. In fact, I was so resigned to the fact that this wasn't going to work that I was halfway through my apology speech before I realized the person who'd just opened the door I'd knocked on actually was Angelina.

"Sorry, I've got the w—oh, it's you!"

She stared back at me in utter confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Er," I started intelligently. I hadn't actually prepared any sort of speech during my frantic journey here. "Well, I—er—remembered something else. From last night."

Angelina raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"This," I said, taking her face in my hands and kissing her firmly. I pulled back, searching her face anxiously for her reaction.

Angie looked at me for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face. She opened her mouth as though to speak, closed it, stared at me a bit more, and finally said, "Do you want to come in?"

I nodded, and she stepped aside to let me enter. As she shut the door behind me, I took in the small flat. To my left was a small kitchen, table, and two chairs. Directly in front of me was a sitting area with a couch and two plush chairs around a low coffee table. On the far wall were two doors—one was slightly ajar, and I could see a toilet and sink beyond it, and the other was shut. I assumed that one led to her bedroom.

"So," Angie said as she came around to face me again. "How did you find me? I mean, I know I told you the building I was in, but—"

I laughed weakly. "Yeah, that's an interesting question. Well, I came over here and there wasn't anyone downstairs—"

"They don't have anyone down there on Sundays," Angie informed me.

"Well, how convenient," I muttered darkly. "Anyway, after waiting around for a while, I just . . . er, started knocking on doors."

Angie raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"Yeah, I started on the first floor and went door to door," I confirmed, blushing. "Bloody glad you don't live on the tenth floor, by the way."

"You could've just sent me an owl, or something," Angie said, lips quirking up in a smile.

"Right, well, I didn't really think it all through. Obviously." I shoved my hands in my pockets, embarrassed.

Angelina's smile widened as she stepped closer to me. "That's okay," she said, wrapping her arms around my waist. "This was much cuter."

I grinned ruefully down at her. "Good, that's what I was going for."

"So, how about that breakfast?"

"Sounds great—I'm starving."

Standing on tiptoe, Angelina kissed me swiftly before turning towards the kitchen.

I collapsed on her couch, leaning back and closing my eyes. Now that my frantic search had come to an end, all my aches and pains gained from last night resurfaced. "Promise me you'll never let me get that drunk again," I mumbled, kneading my temples with my knuckles.

"All right," Angelina said resignedly, though I could hear a smile in her voice.

"And I _am _sorry about forgetting . . . you know, the important stuff."

"I know. I could have just reminded you, though, instead of stalking off in a huff."

I smiled at her phrasing. "Well, I think you had every right to."

The sounds of Angie moving around making breakfast and the delicious smells that began to waft across the room lulled me into a sort of doze. Before I knew it, I'd dropped off to sleep.

_By now the scene is all too familiar. Knowing what's coming and being powerless to escape it raises a fearful hopelessness in me such as I've never felt. Fred disappears up ahead of me, and I brace for the explosion I know is coming. This time, I try to remain facedown where the blast throws me, refusing to face the horror that inevitably happens next. But, as before, some invisible force pulls me to my feet and turns me towards the sound of Fred's voice. My stomach lurches at the sight of his face, the blood pouring down. Fred frowns, as though confused at the horror I know is showing in my eyes. "What's up?" he asks, except that blood spurts from his mouth with the words . . ._

"George!" Angelina's frantic voice broke through my unconscious mind, drawing me out of the dream. I opened my eyes and caught a brief glimpse of her worried gaze and white face before my stomach rolled in memory of the dream and I sprinted to the bathroom. There wasn't really anything in my stomach, so it didn't take long to purge it. I rinsed my mouth out in the sink and returned to the couch. Angie now looked positively terrified.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"What happened?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"Well, that"—I jerked my thumb at the bathroom—"doesn't usually happen; I think it was more a result from last night than anything. As to . . . the other part, it was just a dream." I tried to sound off-hand, though the look on her face told me it was hopeless to try and pass this off as no big deal.

"You were . . . yelling," she said, looking down.

I sighed. "Sorry," I said again.

Angie looked up sharply. "Stop apologizing. It's just—I'm trying to figure out what kind of dream could possibly . . ." she trailed off, her eyes worried again.

I laughed shortly. "You don't want to know," I assured her.

"Try me," she said evenly.

I watched her closely. She did look calmer now, but I there was no way in hell I was going to burden her with this. "Nope, not happening," I said.

Angelina continued to gaze at me steadily, and finally I sighed again. "All right, but don't say I didn't warn you." I paused briefly before launching into a description of the dream. "And sometimes the beginning bits are different, but the explosion and the—the other thing are always the same." I'd been staring at my left knee as I spoke, and now I slowly raised my eyes to Angie's face, slightly afraid of what I'd see.

She was staring at me wide-eyed, one hand over her mouth. After a few beats of silence, she seemed to shake herself slightly and her hand dropped to her lap. "That's . . . disgusting. And horrible."

I snorted darkly. "Yeah, well . . ."

"And it's recurring, did you say?"

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what triggers it, but I think that was about . . . the fifth time I've had it?"

Angie shuddered. "Merlin, that's awful," she said sympathetically.

"Tell me about it."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, with the air of desperately wanting to change the subject, Angie stood and said, "Well, food's ready if you want it."

"God, yes," I said gratefully, following her to the table.

00000000

My outlook on life had improved significantly. Angie came over almost every day after work, or I'd go to her place after I was done at the store. Sometime she'd stop by on her lunch break and follow me around; we'd talk as I restocked shelves, helped customers, or directed my employees if it was a down period. We talked in the evenings as well, though a good proportion of that time was spent doing . . . other things, too. Neither of us spent the night at the other's place or anything—we'd agreed that we didn't need that extra complication at this point.

And I had another reason for wanting to sleep alone in my own bed each night. The dreams had by no means stopped—secretly I'd been hoping they might once my life had straightened out a little—and I didn't want to worry Angelina with that or keep her up all night. After I'd explained them to her, she never asked whether I was still having them. I figured she just didn't want to know. And I was fine not telling her.

One day after Angie had come by on her lunch hour, I found myself face-to-face with Ron as I turned back from kissing her goodbye at the door. I jumped slightly. "Merlin, you could've at least announced your presence."

"Sorry," he said, but he was grinning mischievously. "So, I was right, huh?" he said, nodding towards the door Angelina had just walked though.

"Congratulations," I said dryly. "But you've been a bit slow on the up-take—it's been going on about a week now."

"Oh, I know," Ron answered breezily.

I sighed. "So, is that all you came over here to say?"

Ron's smile slid off his face. "Actually, no. Listen, I think you should come over for dinner this week." He said this last bit in a rush, as though if he took too long to say it, he wouldn't be able to get it all out.

I laughed shortly. "Right, because that's gone so well before," I said, moving to push past him.

He grabbed my arm. "I'm serious, George. I think mum and dad would really appreciate it. They've taken it pretty hard with all of us moving out at once."

"Well, that's your problem, not mine," I said, a little harsher than was necessary.

But Ron didn't budge. "We all come round about three times a week—I think you could handle one night."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously trying to guilt me into this?"

Ron just shrugged.

I sighed. "Fine, I'll think about it," I conceded.

By the time Angie stopped by after work that night, I'd reluctantly decided to have dinner at the Burrow that Friday. I was regretting the decision already, even though I hadn't actually told anyone I'd be coming, but it would be pointless to discuss it with Angie. I knew she'd just tell me to go, so I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

"How was work?" I asked as we settled on the couch in my small living room.

"Oh, you know," she said, tucking herself under my arm, "pretty average, except for Mr. Harding."

"Who?"

She sighed. "He's one of our regulars, and he always orders really specific meals, combining things that aren't even together on the menu and giving us detailed instructions to put his salad dressing on the side and not let his mashed potatoes mix with the sauce on his steak, stuff like that. But he's been coming there for ages, so we have to humor him." Even though I couldn't see her face, I could imagine her wrinkling her nose at this. "Usually it's not that big of a deal, but today we had a bunch of new cooks working, and they messed up his order twice. And I was the one waiting on him."

I squeezed her around the shoulders sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's fine. That man sure can yell, though," she muttered, almost to herself.

"I could give you some Puking Pastilles to slip into his food next time," I offered.

Angie laughed. "Unfortunately, he writes restaurant reviews in one of the Muggle newspapers, so that would not go over so well."

"Well, then I guess you'll just have to suffer through, huh?"

"I guess so."

Although she'd barely been there ten minutes, and although we hadn't been talking about anything of note, I was already starting to feel more relaxed about the prospect of dinner with my family. Angie seemed to have a calming effect on me. _Wish I could bottle that up and take it with me on Friday, _I thought glumly. _Wait, that's a thought. If Ang came with me, it'd significantly reduce the possibility of a scene with my parents. And we wouldn't have to talk about what happened the last time I was home. _Already feeling guilty about using her like this, I pulled slightly away to look Angelina in the eye and asked, "Do you want to come with me to my parents' house for dinner this Friday?"

**

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A/N: Yay! They're together! Haha. Anyway, probs only one more chapter left—and you CAN'T complain, because I TOLD you at the beginning this would be a short story…. ;)**


	7. Healing

**A/N: Thanks to ihearthp96 (x2, since you reviewed ch. 4 and 5 this week), Lela-of-Bast (hope you like this last chapter too!), and junebugbug96 (what is with the number 96? Just realized there are two of those in my regular reviewers for this story . . . anyway, your review made me laugh)**

**Last chapter!**

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Chapter 6: Healing**

_George,_

_ I forgot I have to close the restaurant tonight, so I won't be done until 10. Sorry! I'll stop by afterwards—that's not too late, right?_

_ Angie_

I knew that thinking of this note as a death sentence was a little overdramatic, but still. I was now facing dinner at my parents' house with no buffer against any awkwardness or tension—and I was counting on both—between me and my parents. I wrote her back saying it'd be fine for her to come over later tonight and sent it back with her owl.

I showed up as late as I safely could without it seeming too obvious that I was trying to assure as little time at the Burrow as possible. When Dad opened the door, I greeted him apprehensively, but he just smiled and asked how I was. I got a similar reaction from Mum—_Okay, so I guess we're just going to pretend last time never happened. Fine by me._

As before, I quickly escaped into the living room while Mum and Dad finished preparing dinner. The others acted normally towards me as well. It occurred to me briefly that perhaps Ron had asked for this on my behalf since he knew how little I'd wanted to come in the first place. Then again, I wouldn't necessarily expect that much thoughtfulness from him.

Dinner started off tolerably enough as well, but as always, it was too much to hope for that it'd last.

"So, how's Auror training going, Harry?" Dad asked as we all tucked into roast beef and mashed potatoes.

"Pretty easy, compared to everything you've done?" I added teasingly.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I wish. No, now I have to learn all the tactical stuff—doesn't really fit with my previous method of doing whatever came to my mind and praying it worked."

Ron and I laughed, my mother and father smiled slightly, and Ginny and Hermione just rolled their eyes. I suppose it was a bit weird to be joking about all of it already, but honestly, what else could you do?

"And how is all the general . . . er . . . clean up, I guess you'd call it, going?" I asked, shoveling a forkful of potatoes into my mouth.

Harry shrugged. "It's fine—honestly, much less terrifying than . . . before."

"Hermione, dear, you just started at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, right?" Mum asked, clearly wanting to direct the conversation away from the recent war and the arduous task of picking up the pieces.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I'm really liking it," she said enthusiastically. "A lot to learn, though."

"Which is quite a change, for you," Ron said seriously.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"What? It is!" he protested. When she just gave him a look, he continued, "I'm serious! You always knew everything at school, so now you're finally seeing what it's like for the rest of us."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"That never was his strong suit," I added.

"Oh shut it, all of you," Ron grumbled.

After everyone had finished eating, Mum got up and began clearing plates and dishes. "Hermione, Ginny, could you grab the dessert?"

The girls nodded and headed into the kitchen.

"Oh, and some more plates!" Mum called after them. Turning to me, she said, "Can you hand me that bowl, Fred?"

My hand, which had started towards the dish she'd indicated, froze in midair. That same compressed, surreal feeling I'd had when the woman had asked about Fred my first day back at the store overcame me again. I couldn't breathe; it was like an iron fist was squeezing my lungs, forcing the air out while allowing no new air to enter. Time literally seemed to halt as everyone stared at Mum, and she stared at me, a look of horror creeping into her eyes.

Before it had quite manifested itself, I had shot up from my chair and bolted into the hallway. This time no one called after me or tried to stop me. I Apparated back to Diagon Alley and blindly climbed the stairs to my flat, stopping just inside the door. I was shaking uncontrollably, and each breath still took effort to draw into my lungs. I felt rooted to the spot while at the same time experiencing a desperate urge to run, and keep running until I couldn't go any further.

Suddenly, an inexplicable rage filled me. Before I quite realized what I was doing, I'd grabbed a plate from the sink and slammed it against the floor, where it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction watching the glass skitter across the floor, so I took another plate and repeated the motion. As I pulled a third from the sink and raised it above my head, the weird force that had been controlling me abruptly melted away. _What the fuck am I doing?_

I put the plate back and sank into a chair, burying my face in my hands. I took a couple of deep breaths—relieved to find that I could finally do so—got up, and opened the fridge, not really sure what I was looking for, but just to have something to do. _I need a distraction, _I thought, and was on the point of closing the refrigerator door when I spotted a bottle of firewhiskey at the back, behind a carton of milk. I frowned. _When did I get that? _Wracking my brains, I suddenly recalled the day Fred and I had bought it, intending to use it to celebrate the first week of the store being open. Apparently we'd never gotten around to that. _Well, no time like the present, _I decided, reaching for the bottle. I paused halfway, my hand outstretched in the cold interior of the fridge. I was fully aware that this could lead to dangerous territory. Almost as though it had a mind of its own, my fingers moved the remaining distance to close over the neck of the bottle. _Ah, what the hell, _I thought, pulling it out and shutting the door.

00000000

The knock on the door sounded oddly muffled. I lurched to my feet, almost tripped over the table leg, and fumbled with the doorknob before finally opening it on Angelina. "Hey!" I said, my voice too loud. "Sorry," I whispered. "That was reeeally loud."

Angelina stared at me for a couple seconds, her expression going from surprised to confused to angry almost too fast for me to follow. "Are you drunk?" she demanded.

"What? No'm not," I said, grinning at her.

"Oh, my God, George," she said angrily, shaking her head and pushing past me into the kitchen. I stumbled back against the wall as I moved to let her by. Her eyes alighted immediately on the half-empty bottle on the table, and she strode over, grabbed the bottle, and upturned it over the sink.

"Hey, I'm not done with that!" I protested.

"Yes, you are," Angie said shortly. She finished dumping the contents of the bottle down the drain, set it on the counter, and turned to face me, arms crossed.

"Are you mad?" I asked.

Angie snorted. "What was your first clue?"

"Well, first you—" I started, but stopped when Angelina's eyebrows climbed dangerously high on her forehead. "Oh, that was a rhetorical question," I mumbled. I was sobering up quickly, at least emotionally, and was starting to feel a little ashamed.

Angelina looked away from me with a frustrated sigh, and her eyes found the shattered pieces of glass on the floor. "What's all that?" she asked, thrusting a finger at the glass.

"Broke a plate," I said quietly.

"On purpose?"

I met her eyes briefly, then dropped my gaze, scuffing my shoe on the floor. "Yes," I mumbled. "And it was two plates, actually."

Angelina sighed again, pulling the waste bin from under the sink and directing the pieces of glass into it with her wand. Replacing the bin, she grabbed a glass from the cupboard to the left of the stove and filled it at the sink. She shoved it into my hand. "Drink this," she commanded.

I obeyed, and when I'd finished, she refilled it and brought it back to me. Then, without saying anything, she turned and started towards the couch in the living room. I followed her, knocking against the table on my way. Wincing and rubbing my hip, I fell more than sat down next to her.

"I broke the plates before I started drinking," I said, feeling that it was important she know this fact.

Angelina glanced at me briefly but didn't say anything. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring at the opposite wall. Looking at her profile, I could see that her jaw was still tight with anger.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Angie turned to face me, tucking her legs under her. "No, don't apologize—I didn't mean to get so angry, I was just . . . scared, more than anything. I mean, I don't want you to . . ."

"Turn into a raging alcoholic?" I said, half smiling.

Angelina looked away again.

I gently turned her face towards me. "I promise you it won't happen again," I said. "I—I wasn't thinking clearly when I did it. But I'm not expecting to encounter similar circumstances anytime soon."

"And what exactly were those circumstances?" Angie asked warily.

I paused for a minute, deciding how best to say it. _Well, no point beating around the bush_. "My mum called me Fred."

Angie just stared at me for a moment. "Merlin, that's—I don't even—'I'm sorry' doesn't really sound right, but . . ."

"I mean, normally it wouldn't be strange—she mixed us up all the time when he was alive. But now—God, I wouldn't have expected it to hurt so much, but it did."

Angelina reached over and squeezed my hand. We sat like that, just holding hands, for several minutes. I debated whether I should ask her something that had been on my mind ever since dinner that night. I didn't really know how to put it—basically any way I did, it would come out sounding . . . bad. But I had to know. "Can I ask you something?" I said aloud.

"Anything," Angie replied.

I half-smiled. _She might regret that once she hears what I have to say._ "This is going to sound . . . strange, and I don't mean to offend you or anything, but—" and here I could no longer force myself to look her in the eye, so I dropped my gaze to our still-clasped hands. "Do you think—you're not just dating me as some sort of replacement for Fred, are you?" I winced as I finished; it sounded even more horrible said aloud than it had in my head.

Angie's hand tightened over mine almost compulsively, and I finally looked up at her again. There was pity in her eyes that was worse than the anger or insult I'd expected. "I can't believe you would even think something like that," she said, and her tone at least was a little irritated. "You aren't like Fred at all." When I raised an eyebrow at her, she smiled slightly and said, "Okay, so you're a lot like him because you're twins, but . . . here, do you want a list?"

"You've made a list of our differences?" I asked, amused and a little creeped out, if I was being perfectly honest.

Angie shoved me, almost dislodging me from the couch—I still hadn't quite regained my full sense of balance. "Sorry," she said, pulling me back up. "And no, I didn't mean a written list, but I can give you a spontaneously generated one."

"Go for it," I said.

"Okay. Well, for starters, you have a freckle above your lip that Fred didn't." She brushed her thumb over the spot, and my upper lip tingled pleasantly. "And yes, that was how I told you two apart for most of first year. Not very effective from a distance, so that's probably why I never called either of you by your name if I could help it."

I grinned. "I don't remember that, but that's hilarious."

Angie grimaced slightly. "Anyway, you also have a scar on your right elbow from falling off Charlie's broom the first time you and Fred sneaked out to fly it. You hate peas, and you insist on finishing each type of food on your plate completely before moving on to the next. Fred held his beater's bat in his right hand; you hold yours in your left—I always thought that was really interesting, with you being identical and all—"

"These are hardly profound differences," I interrupted, though I was impressed and a little touched that she'd noticed all these things over the years.

"I'm getting there," she said sternly. "You're more sensitive than Fred was—"

I wrinkled my nose. "Sorry I asked."

Angie glared at me. "Not in a 'girly' way," she said, putting air quotes around the word, rolling her eyes, "but in a you-actually-have-some-regard-for-the-feelings-of-others way. Not that Fred didn't. Just—sometimes, he could be . . . well, a bit of an asshole, to be perfectly honest."

I laughed. "I really hope he can somehow be listening in on this conversation right now."

Angelina smiled. "Right, well, moving on—from what I could tell, whenever you two pulled pranks, Fred was always the initiator, but you were always the planner, making sure everything went smoothly. Or not smoothly, as I guess is the point when pranking." She fell silent.

"That's it?" I asked, but more to clarify that she was finished, not as though I was offended with the number of things she'd come up with.

"Yeah, for now." She looked down and started tracing random patterns on the back of my hand with her finger. "Well, okay, not really."

"Yes?" I prompted when she didn't expand on that statement.

"I always kind of had a thing for you," she said, the words spilling out in a rush.

I sat silent for a moment, absorbing this. "Oh," I said finally.

Angie chanced a look at me. "That's all you have to say?"

"No, I'm just . . . kind of rethinking my whole outlook on life."

She snorted and hit me on the arm. "No you are not."

"I'm serious!" I said, but I was grinning. "Wait, so why did you date Fred, then?"

Angelina shrugged, dropping my hand and turning away again. "I don't know—I knew you weren't interested, and I just thought that maybe . . . it'd make you jealous." She mumbled this last bit quietly before hugging her knees to her chest again and burying her face on top of them. "Merlin, that's embarrassing to admit," she said, her voice muffled slightly.

I pulled her arms from around her legs and waited until she looked at me. "I think it's funny," I said.

Angie frowned at me before pulling her arms from my grasp and hiding her face again. "Of course you do," she grumbled.

Laughing, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Eventually, she unfolded herself and leaned back against my chest with a sigh. "So, things were never really serious between you two, then?" I asked, still surprised by her recent confession.

"No. I mean, I never loved him, not like that anyway."

Perhaps I'd imagined it, but I thought she'd put a slight emphasis on the word 'him,' and the thought made my stomach leap slightly. "Did you . . ."

"Did I what?"

"Never mind," I said. _That conversation can wait for another time._ "Listen, thanks for, you know, being here."

"I promised, didn't I?" she said, as though this should have been obvious.

"Promised what?"

"That I'd never let you get that drunk again."

00000000

Someone was whispering my name. "Wha?" I said groggily, opening my eyes. I was lying on the couch in my living room, and Angie was sitting up near me.

"We fell asleep," she informed me. "And it's pretty late, so I should probably go."

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and stretching. Looking at her, I said, "You can stay, if you want. I mean, it'd be easier, wouldn't it?"

Angie considered this for a moment. "Yeah, I guess."

She sounded hesitant, and I figured it probably had something to do with the fact that we'd specifically decided not to spend the night with each other yet. "I still have two beds," I offered, hoping this would clear up any potential awkwardness about the sleeping arrangements.

Angie gave me a slightly horrified look. "No way, I am not sleeping in Fred's old bed; that is weird and disturbing."

"All right, sorry. Well, I can sleep here and you can have my bed."

After a few more minutes of thought, Angie said slowly, "Okay. That is, if you don't mind. I don't want to steal your bed."

"Not in the slightest," I assured her with a smile. Going into my room, I changed the sheets on my bed and got her a fresh pillow. Grabbing my pillow and an extra blanket, I said, "Well, good night."

"Good night," Angelina replied, reaching up to kiss me.

I'd barely begun to feel drowsy again when Angie hissed from the bedroom doorway, "George, you still awake?"

"Yeah," I said, sitting up and looking over at her.

"I can't sleep—I think it's something about the empty bed, or . . . I don't know."

"Okay, well, do you want to just go home?"

"No, I . . . can you . . ." she trailed off.

"I don't think I can sleep in Fred's bed either, if that's what you're thinking. Not even for you," I said apologetically.

"No, that's not . . ." she trailed off again, dropping her gaze to the floor.

A grin started to spread across my face. "Do you want me to sleep with you?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

I got up off the couch and followed her back into the bedroom. "It's not that big a deal, you know," I said as we both got under the covers. "We have done it once already, after all."

Angie looked at me. "Well, that's true." She lay down, her head resting on the groove between my chest and shoulder.

Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed the top of her head lightly. "Good night," I whispered again.

00000000

That morning, I woke up with only a slight pain in my head, and a very clear idea of what the pressure on my chest was. Opening my eyes, I craned my neck to see Angie still asleep, her mouth slightly open and her chest rising and falling slowly. Smiling a little, I tried not to move her too much as I shifted into a more comfortable position.

_What day is it? _I wondered absently as I lay there, staring at the ceiling. I mentally counted the days in my head, and nearly sat bolt upright in bed when I'd calculated it. At the last moment, I remembered Angelina, asleep, and stopped myself. _It's been a month. Wow, has it really been that long already? It's gone much faster than I would've expected at the beginning._

Just then, Angie shifted and let out a sigh. Moving to look at her again, I saw that she was awake. "Good morning," I said, smiling at her.

She smiled back, then leaned up to kiss me.

"So, it's been a month," I said as she pulled back again. "And I think I'm well overdue for a visit." I realized belatedly how jumbled that sounded, but Angelina just nodded.

"Okay, just let me—well, I guess I'm already dressed, but give me a couple seconds—that is, unless you wanted to go alone?"

I frowned at her. "Why would I tell you if I didn't want you to come?"

We Apparated to just below the small cemetery, glanced at each other briefly, and started up the hill. Angelina took my hand as we walked. When we reached the gates, I pushed on them and they swung open silently. "I don't know about you, but I was expecting them to creak a little—you know, with it being a graveyard and all."

Angie smiled at me and I grinned back. "You know, we're probably not supposed to make a joke out of this," she pretended to reprimand me.

"I think he'd appreciate it."

Angelina nodded. "I think you're probably right."

We reached the headstone and I took a deep breath before looking down at Fred's name carved on the grey stone. Angie squeezed my hand once before dropping it and moving closer to the headstone. She traced Fred's first name with her fingers, looked back at me and smiled briefly, and then moved down along the line of graves.

I took her place at the head of Fred's grave. After a short consideration, I sat down on the hard ground. "Uh, hey," I said, feeling slightly stupid talking to a solid piece of stone. I closed my eyes and called Fred's face to mind. _He'd probably be laughing at me right now._ "Okay, I know I look like an idiot, but just bear with me, all right? This isn't easy." I took another deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "So, bottom line, I still miss you like crazy. But . . . it's not as bad as I would've thought. I mean, the dream thing sucks, and I can't go home without causing problems of epic proportions, but I think it'll get better."

I deliberated what I'd just said—saying it, I realized I really did believe it to be true. I was on the upward slope now. Sure, I had a long way to go, and I didn't think I'd ever truly be back to normal, but that was life, wasn't it?

"Actually, I think I'm going to go see Mum and Dad today—I don't think I've been appreciative of how hard this has been on them. And I can't lose my entire family over it.

"As for Angie"—I glanced around and spotted her several feet away, slowly moving among and reading the headstones as she passed—"er, I hope you don't mind too much about that. I know it's a little strange, but you can't help who you fall for, right? Plus, losing you . . . I lost a part of myself, and I think she might be able to . . . well, not replace it, but fill it in some way."

I fell silent again. After a minute or two, I nodded decisively, rose from the ground, and put a hand on the headstone that marked the place where my twin lay. "I think that's it for now—I'll be back soon."

I walked over to Angie, gave her a long hug, and we walked hand in hand back down the hill.

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A/N: Well, that's it folks! Hope you liked it :) And, to any STAC readers out there, I have approx. 1 ½ chapters of the sequel written. I'm a little hesitant to post the first one though, because I'm realizing this one is going to be A LOT harder to write for some reason . . . but if you beg me hard enough, maybe I will anyway ;)**


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